Let me back
to the cornfields and harsh, sun burnt grass;
where the stalk are living, gossipy things
that whisper at you when you rush through them.

Let me back
to the open meadows and roaming horses.
Where you can savor the wind in your hair
on the back of a colt riding across the pasture.

Let me back
the the watery paths, hidden in an island of trees.
Where the pebbles are rocky and unsure,
but the stream flows, as it always has.

Let me back
to my childhood memories and dreams.
Where a simple, crinkled bird's nest
would thrill me for days.

Let me back
to my ever present hideaway in the country.
Where I can spend my days in secrecy and warm hay,
where problems are patient and rare.
 
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